


Silenced

by TheGrammarHawk



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Muteness, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Poison, Post-Time Skip, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Unreliable Narrator, War, internalized ableism, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22097521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrammarHawk/pseuds/TheGrammarHawk
Summary: A devastating injury in battle has left Ferdinand mute. He can't readily offer his opinions, his ideas, for the campaign anymore. He can no longer sing to his horses after a long day. He can no longer remind the world of who he is andwhythey should care.He's trapped in his mind and is alone in his thoughts. After all:Who is Ferdinand von Aegir without hisvoice?
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Dorothea Arnault, Ferdinand von Aegir & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 383





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> oh we in for a real one y'all

The first thing Ferdinand was aware of was the numbness of his body.

It felt like he was floating. Truly, it was one of the stranger things he had experienced. Usually any _numbing_ was from a medicine, not magic, which didn’t bode well for him.

But why would he be on the receiving end of medicine? What had…?

Ferdinand’s eyelids fluttered, brows drawing together as memories came back. The last battle had been rough… and every image he conjured up was hazy at best. It had been cloudy, and they had been on their way to Faerghus… a Kingdom scouting troop had surprised them, so they had gone into battle…

Everything ended with a bright light taking over his vision.

And now, now everything from his chest to his nose felt…

“Ferdinand, stop it.”

The low voice was like an iron to his skull. Almost instinctively, he dipped his head, the numbness fading to a sensation of something tight.

He could practically hear the eyeroll as another voice piped up. “I believe what Hubert means is that you need to stop moving your head about. You know how he is. Now, I suppose it _would_ be helpful if you could open your eyes, show us you’re awake.”

Ferdinand did as told, though his vision blurred for a moment before settling. Sure enough, Hubert was in a chair nearby, a stack of papers in hand and a scowl on his face. Linhardt, however, was standing over his bedside, hands on his neck. With the numbness, he hadn’t even noticed the touch.

“Good,” Linhardt spoke softly, “now, the medicine will be wearing off soon, so I’ll be going to fetch more from Manuela. I’ll trust Hubert to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, since he’s been so kind as to visit. Try not to speak for the time being.”

With that, Linhardt left, but not before Ferdinand could gauge his exhaustion from the bags under his eyes and the tremble of his hands.

Hubert huffed as soon as the healer was gone, fixing his stare back on Ferdinand. “The great Ferdinand von Aegir, confined to silence. I daresay that the perk is hardly worth all of the suffering you’ve gone through, most likely. Let’s hope we remember your name in the meantime.”

Disgruntled as he was, Ferdinand still heard no venom in the comment, choosing to brush off the jest with a look of questioning. Perhaps he was not allowed to speak yet, but Hubert, especially, had gotten better at reading him throughout the events of the war.

Indeed, Hubert relented, giving the information Ferdinand wished for. “A mage got too close to you while you were taking down one of the grapplers. A thunder startled your steed, and you fell – while you were stunned, they shot a thoron at your head. It hit you square in the neck… you’ve been unconscious for a little less than three days, now. It’s a miracle you survived. If you feel the urge to perform such a stunt again, next time do it within the vicinity of Linhardt or Manuela – even Dorothea would have been better. Faith is hardly a strength of mine.”

Raising an eyebrow at _that_ comment, Ferdinand gave another silent question. Hubert tsked, though his words were not irritated.

“ _Yes_ , I used a heal spell on you. The situation – the situation demanded it, the spell had fried a major artery, if I hadn’t-”

Cut off by the door opening, Hubert shut his mouth, glancing away from Ferdinand. Linhardt pushed back in, a small bottle in hand. He sat himself at Ferdinand’s side, either unaware of or choosing to ignore the tense air between the two advisors to the emperor. It was with a practiced care that he undid the bandages, though Ferdinand now understood that Linhardt had been correct about his previous dosage wearing off. Every brush of Linhardt’s fingers against his skin left him with a sudden ache, a lasting burning that would have made a lesser man writhe.

This was hardly his first time in the infirmary.

Then again, this was hardly Linhardt’s first shift, yet he still scrunched his nose up with a wince at the sight of the wound.

“Now, once the painkillers are reapplied, we can see how you’re doing. Your breathing has been getting remarkably better with time, but I must suggest you take some pages from my book at _relax_ for a while, Ferdinand. Don’t go and undo all of my work by running around and shouting, I can’t promise I’ll do it again. Keeping you hydrated was hard enough – I do believe that Bernadetta and the professor are preparing some soup for you, if you want that later…”

With a slight stretch along his shoulders, he pulled back, nodding to himself. “It should be fine to try and speak, now. You don’t have any injuries aside from your neck, so if you simply _must_ move, I suppose I won’t stop you. Just be careful with that big head of yours, hm?”

“Very funny,” Ferdinand replied.

Or, he tried to. Instead all that came out was a wheeze that burned deep in his throat, eliciting a sharp gasp to follow. Linhardt immediately turned from where he had settled the bottle on the available desk, blue eyes wide with rare surprise. Even Hubert stilled where he sat, glancing away from the papers again to give them his attention.

Ferdinand was already sitting up, a coiled pit of anxiety lingering in his gut, fists tightly clenched as he opened his mouth again.

Try as he might to call the names of his friends, no sound came.

He only refocused at the sensation of Linhardt’s hand on his shoulder, his voice a sort of calm that always seemed to soothe and calm situations that were growing out of control.

“Slow down, slow down. Whisper first. If that hurts too much, then that’s where the problem lies.”

Ferdinand moved his hands to his side, letting his fingers curl into the infirmary blankets and clutch them tightly. With a slow breath, he attempted the whisper, focusing on the same mantra that he used as sword and shield back at the academy:

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir.”

The words were soft, but they were there. It was only due to the silence of the room that they could be heard at all.

The fact that neither of the other men made fun of the words he had chosen made the pressure in his chest grow heavier.

In an infuriatingly gentle motion, Linhardt pressed his thumbs against the muscles at the front of his throat and frowned slightly when Ferdinand did not flinch. “The numbing set in again, as I said it would… so it’s not a matter of pain from the movements required… try speaking again? No – could you hum, instead?”

Humming. He could do that, couldn’t he? He hummed all the time, familiar tunes from the operas he had attended in his youth. He did it in the stables, or while bathing, or-

The dread that had woven throughout his ribs solidified into a raw panic, sharp and as loud as he was not, and no, _no_ , this couldn’t be happening-

There was a soft flutter of pages as Hubert dropped them to the chair, swiftly coming to stand next to Ferdinand. Without hesitation, he grabbed one of his wrists, tugging it up, then his other, until Hubert was practically holding both of his hands and oh, _oh_ , his nails had begun to dig into his palms, and Linhardt appeared to be saying something, but he couldn’t hear it past the blood rushing through his ears.

“ _Ferdinand_ ,”

Alarmed orange shot up to meet Hubert’s pale eyes. Hubert gripped his hands back just as tightly as they had held themselves, a feeling that was almost… grounding.

“Breathe, hyperventilating will do nothing but exacerbate any lingering damage.”

Now Linhardt’s voice came back to him, and Ferdinand felt himself nod, easing the grip he had on Hubert’s hands back to something less violent.

Hubert turned his attention to Linhardt now that Ferdinand’s anxiety had lessened, tone considerably more snappish with him than he had been toward Ferdinand, a certain unease tinging the short words.

“ _What_ is the damage, exactly?”

Uncertain for the first time so far, Linhardt pulled back slightly, resting his chin in his hand to consider the situation.

“Well – it appears, at the very least, that the magic has left severe damage on his larynx, the implications of which would mean, well… Best case scenario, he’ll be back to normal with a bit of rest. That’s… unlikely, however. Most likely, however, the injury is irreversible, and his larynx is destroyed… in which case…”

Ice seeped along Ferdinand’s bones as Linhardt shifted, clearly thinking through all of the possibilities in his mind.

“His voice would be gone permanently.”


	2. Expression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which people begin to react, however genuine

It had been two days since Ferdinand had been discharged from the infirmary. Two days since he had been damned by Linhardt’s words. Two days of practically going out of his way to hide in his dorm, away from his peers, his _friends_ , to try and figure out just… what this meant for him.

Rarely was it ever quiet enough somewhere that whispering would work. That simply wasn’t a solution, especially once the medicine began to wear off. It _did_ hurt to make the motions of speech, sound or not, and while part of Ferdinand was more than willing to push himself so that the pain would fade, another part worried he would hurt himself more.

A slightly manic voice in the back of his mind said that everything was fine, this wouldn’t matter! He could still contribute to the war efforts. He could still fight without his words, after all.

He just… couldn’t give orders to his men midbattle. Or contribute to war meetings. Or offer swift, concise arguments to Edelgard and Hubert.

It was fine. He was _fine_.

He had done a fairly good job of avoiding people until the professor himself knocked on his door. He couldn’t call out a _come in_ or _yes?_

No, he had to get up and open the door himself.

Despite the neutral look the professor usually sported, now his face was pinched, his eyes reflecting a deep sadness that Ferdinand _really_ didn’t want to be on the other end of.

“Ferdinand…”

Ferdinand turned away, pulling his hair over a shoulder, refusing to look. He didn’t want – didn’t _deserve_ the professor’s pity.

A gauntleted hand rested itself on his shoulder, a small squeeze of his fingers accompanying his next words. “This… this is my fault. I should not have assumed the nature of your wounds. If I had… If I hadn’t waited… perhaps I could have…”

Byleth sighed, shaking his head, bangs obscuring his green eyes. “My apologies. I wish time could be rewound to that extent. I’ve… failed you, as your teacher.”

Ferdinand couldn’t see the way Byleth took him into a hug, not with the way his vision blurred over with tears. He didn’t understand what, exactly, the older man meant, but to know he was even causing the _professor_ pain…

He was supposed to _better_ people, to make them _happy_ , not… not _this_.

Dorothea had been even worse.

She had never truly been the type to knock, not with how close they had grown in the war. The constant fighting had been affecting the both of them, and Linhardt, the hardest, so it was only natural that they’d grow closer.

Dorothea had barged right into his room the second he forgot to lock it, and before he knew it he had been trapped on his bed in a tight hug.

The needling voice in the back of his mind reminded him of how much Dorothea would look down upon his singing back at the academy. She had never liked the way he constantly spoke, had always wanted him to stop offering opinions. She was probably happy about the situation.

Flames, everyone was probably rejoicing while he hid himself away.

But… if that was the case, then it didn’t really make sense that Dorothea was crying on him. For him.

 _Unless it’s an act,_ the traitorous whisper came again. Dorothea was a marvelous actress, after all.

But no, _no_ , this was real. It was real. His friends cared about him.

So it was… okay. It was okay if he clutched her back, if he buried his face in her shoulder, if he cried as well.

Not that anyone could hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter lengths are gonna be a bit random ngl but i hope you enjoyed this! <3


	3. Read My Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapters are short but like that's their vibe,,, hopefully it means they'll be Fast that way

Ferdinand was doing his best to ignore his situation. In some ways, he could pretend nothing had changed. His horses didn’t mind; they still let him kiss their necks and brush their manes. The monastery dogs didn’t care one way or another, the Aegir hounds still nipped at his toes and begged for treats when he passed.

Then again, animals did not require tact. It was kind, yet thoughtless words that succeeded in reminding Ferdinand just how much was to change.

Caspar had only meant a compliment with his greeting of “Hey man, hope you’ve got something for the meeting tonight, your ideas are _way_ cooler for fights than Edelgard’s! Can’t wait to hear!”

For the first time in a long while, Ferdinand entered the cardinal room with his head ducked low, meeting no one’s gaze as he clutched papers to his chest. He took his usual seat at Edelgard’s left, across from Hubert, and sorted his stack in order to find the pieces that would relate to the present agenda.

Now the question was just how to articulate his views…

Ferdinand was an _orator_. Everyone on the strike force knew this by now. One of his greatest gifts was his power to move people with his words, able to argue in such a manner that anyone could understand his viewpoints. Along with his natural eloquence and penchant to be charming, these were the qualities that any proper prime minister would need, and now, _now_ , those plans were dashed.

He was a general who couldn’t order, an advisor who couldn’t guide, and a minister who couldn’t inspire.

A hand rested on his shoulder, warm and cautious, and Ferdinand knew it belonged to Byleth. The man peered down at him with mild concern on his face, already seeing through him.

“Breathe. May I see your notes?”

Ferdinand slid them over while he attempted to school his respiration, kicking himself for lacking even the slightest control over his anxiety. It wasn’t a new situation, hardly, but it seemed now anything and everything was one step away from setting him off.

Ferdinand _hated_ feeling like this. It was like he was a boy again, unsure if what he was doing was right, was noble enough, and whether or not his father would approve-

_No, think of absolutely anything else right now. Not him._

The meeting went… not quite as badly as Ferdinand had feared, but it was far from present. Too many times did someone ask for his opinion before looking dreadfully embarrassed, suddenly aware of the circumstances.

Byleth was a help. Hearing the professor bring to light some of Ferdinand’s ideas and argue on his behalf was… touching, at the very least. It was nice, as well, that Edelgard was far more willing to give in to Byleth than Ferdinand himself.

Byleth didn’t always make the points Ferdinand would have. Byleth didn’t argue with any sort of passion, simply clear and unfazed facts. It left people with the notion that it would be the best plan, with faith in their professor, but where was the inspiration of it? They followed the professor because they believed in him, not in the strategy itself, and…

Well, it left something empty in Ferdinand, even when his peers gave kind remarks about how good his ideas for cavalry placement were. They all flashed sweet smiles and encouraging words, and _it was all wrong_.

He almost – he almost _wanted_ to be called a brash fool. He wanted Caspar and Petra’s immediate, reckless support, he wanted Bernadetta and Linhardt’s unease and hesitant acceptance, he wanted Dorothea’s slow nods and Edelgard’s sighs and he wanted to hear Hubert argue against him, determined to get his way.

Instead, the man in question stared at him, not speaking up unless questioned. When Ferdinand caught his gaze, all Hubert did was raise an eyebrow.

It was – It was a familiar gesture. Ferdinand understood at once. With a small nod, he agreed, letting a soft smile take up his face for the first time so far in the meeting.

“Well, that wraps up today’s concerns. Thank you for participating, everyone. We managed to get everything done far quicker than usual… I am glad.”

Moment ruined, Ferdinand dipped his head, wincing at Edelgard’s words. She didn’t mean any harm, he was sure, but she _had_ to know why everything went so smoothly.

_“The great Ferdinand von Aegir, confined to silence.”_

Maybe… Hubert truly wasn’t the only one that was pleased by the ordeal. If he couldn’t speak, then all further debates would not take place, and everything would run smoother… maybe even _better_ , without his input.

Quickly, Ferdinand stood, abandoning his reports to leave as fast as he could while the others dawdled and chatted amongst themselves. He had almost succeeded in his escape when a hand gripped his elbow, slowing him considerably.

“Where do you think you’re running off to, von Aegir? Did you not agree to take tea after this?”

 _Hubert_.

Inhaling deeply, Ferdinand turned to face his companion, Hubert’s face set in a peculiar frown. How could he respond? It was nowhere near quiet enough in the hall, not with the others still talking, so there was no way for Hubert to hear any whisper. Besides, that still hurt when attempted.

As if sensing his concerns, Hubert huffed, releasing him to fold his arms.

“Ferdinand. Cease. I’ll have you know that I’m more than capable of reading lips. It is an essential skill to have in my areas of expertise.”

Oh. So it was.

“ _I am still willing to take tea with you,_ ” Ferdinand mouthed, looking away from Hubert as the faintest grin threatened to reappear. “ _Thank you._ ”

“Let us not waste time, then,” Hubert replied with an only _somewhat_ exasperated headshake.

Perhaps not all things had to change.


	4. Faded Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is all soft lads,,, get it while it lasts,,, bc it sure ain't gonna,,,

It was quiet. Far quieter than usual.

Somehow… it was still comfortable.

Hubert didn’t make any comments about how he could no longer speak. He never had, not since Linhardt had confirmed it. Instead, instead he was _patient_ , patient in a way that Ferdinand had never expected would be directed at him, not from Hubert. It ached and burned in the best way, almost enough to let him forget.

Hubert was the quiet one, truly, but knowing that he could understand – that even when the wind was too loud, or other noises cluttered the courtyard, he could still read his lips with startling accuracy – greatly encouraged Ferdinand to speak in his own soundless way. Whispering took more air than speaking usually did, and for his generally long-winded rambles he needed as much as he could get.

Hubert had rarely watched Ferdinand when he spoke before, the man much more likely to be staring at his coffee or his lap than looking up. Now his attention was fully on Ferdinand, and Ferdinand…

Well. It was a lot, was all, the weight of Hubert’s gaze. Surely if Hubert met his eyes, he’d melt on the spot.

“Will you inform me as to why you were in such a rush to flee the room? You did not seem… entirely present, Ferdinand.”

Ah. So he hadn’t quite escaped the situation previous, not yet. Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, Ferdinand looked away, doubt and shame and regret coiling around within him like an angry mix of vipers.

Hubert had been listening this whole time, but Ferdinand still found himself unable to respond.

Something changed in the weight of Hubert’s gaze, and the man seemed to sigh through his nose, glancing away for the briefest of moments before he changed the topic, drawling and light in his words.

“I must admit, I have not been to such a dreadfully boring council in years. Frankly, I did not quite agree with many of Byleth’s proposals,” Hubert waved his hand idly, “it was easy enough to see that he was hardly prepared to present them. Even so, it would have been folly to argue with the professor. Anything he offers is immediately accepted…”

Ferdinand could not help himself: he brightened, smile tugging back at his face as he covered it with a sip of tea. A sidelong glance showed that Hubert, too, had a soft little grin, his pale eyes crinkling at the edges just enough to notice.

Hubert had missed _him_ , in the meeting, and he was deliberately acknowledging it because he knew it would make Ferdinand feel better. Some part of Ferdinand longed to reach out to the hand that rested on the table, to kiss its knuckles.

“ _If you so dearly desire to bicker, my friend, we have all the time we can afford to it_ ,” Ferdinand let his smile fall to something smaller, something sadder, as he started at where his own hand lay not too far from Hubert’s. “ _…I was afraid that I was lost to the conversation. I fear I no longer have any place to be present for strategy meetings. If nothing else, I… I feel as though it will not belong before I am… drowned out, if you will, amongst our companions._ ”

Daring, Ferdinand allowed for his pinky to stray, brushing it along Hubert’s own. “ _I am… useless, like this, and I feel as though everyone… well, no one is particularly upset about it. Now the only person who has to deal with my incessant thoughts and feelings is… me._ ”

It wasn’t fair that the voice that lingered in his head, the one that reminded him of how flawed he was, the one that reminded him that everyone would be _happier_ , now, sounded low and condescending, a voice from the monastery, _Hubert’s_ voice. Hubert didn’t deserve it.

Not now, not after all these years, not when Hubert’s own gloved pinky tentatively reached out in return, hooking on Ferdinand’s. Neither mentioned it, neither retracted their hands. Ferdinand could not help but stare at where their hands were joined, even as Hubert looked away from his lips and to the ground at their side.

“My apologies, Ferdinand. I’m afraid that there’s no chance of you going unnoticed by everyone. I’d tell you why I think such, and yet…” the softest tint of pink marked Hubert’s ears, the mage still stubbornly looking away, “I’ve no pen nor paper with which to write, at the moment. You are simply going to have to take my word for it, even if you are so often inclined not to.

“As it is, I feel I must remind you of this, given your concerns. Ferdinand,” Hubert clarified, finally bringing himself to look back up at the man before him, “it is _actions_ that speak far louder than words.”

With that, he took the hand that was hooked with his with both of his own, bringing it up to press a kiss across the tanned knuckles just as Ferdinand had envisioned _himself_ doing prior. Now, now it was Ferdinand’s turn to flush; he only did not startle at the tender contact because of how quietly insecure the words were that came from Hubert’s mouth.

Even when Hubert relinquished his hand, Ferdinand kept one held in his own, perfectly capable of using his other to drink tea.

Perhaps _this_ was why sharing silence with Hubert had been no chore. It was nice to simply spend the time with him regardless, even as they tiptoed around their poorly hidden feelings. They did not have to address the slight kiss. It could remain here, at their table, just with all of the other stray glances and fond touches had in the past. They were braver here, bolder away from prying eyes. They did not need to bring these infant affections elsewhere, parade them about for their friends.

So Ferdinand was surprised, somewhat, that Hubert continued to hold his hand in his even when they stood to leave, materials replaced.

Surprised, perhaps, but not upset. Letting his fingers intertwine with Hubert’s own was not a bad thing to take outside of their little world.

Hand in hand, they could communicate in a language all their own.


	5. Soft Mutterings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

War could not wait for people to catch up should they stumble and fall. Ferdinand found this out the hard way. No amount of newly blossoming love could keep him steady as their army continued its war.

It was nice to be in a saddle again, working through a new batch of cavalry in mock drills. Petra was advancing her own flying units while Caspar strengthened some infantry, and Ferdinand had faith in his men. He easily laid out a plan of attack before the drill for them to read through, simple enough.

At least, it should have been. Yet it seemed that Caspar had changed tactics halfway through, and suddenly Ferdinand’s men were at a disadvantage, they needed to regroup and try something new and-

-and no matter how much Ferdinand yelled, throat burning as the freshly healed muscles tried their best, no one could hear his orders.

***

It was ridiculous, really, how Edelgard requested time to speak with him. She seemed to wish to have private conversations regarding tactics with him since he had difficulty getting ideas through in meetings, but Edelgard was no Hubert.

He’d craft a marvelous and thoughtful point and shoot it back at her without hesitation in his argument only for her to be looking somewhere entirely different.

Edelgard was spooked easily, he knew, sometimes. Easily distracted, if nothing else. It wasn’t exactly fair to assume she’d spend all her time affixed to his face. (In fact, even Dorothea had trouble keeping up, and she had only _laughed_ when he had mentioned that Hubert had no trouble. _“Not all of us spend so much time naturally staring at your lips, Ferdie.”_ )

Regardless, it still hurt not to be heard.

***

Byleth accidently signed him up for choir practice, one weekend.

Ferdinand, like the fool he was, had gotten excited over it. He _loved_ to sing.

He was halfway to the cathedral before he realized.

***

Having to make yourself known was harder than Ferdinand had assumed. He was used to stealing attention through his vibrant looks alone, though it had always helped when he entered a room with a cheerful call or greeting. Now…

Now, lanterns in the library would be blown out by a passing guard, and he couldn’t call out that someone was there.

Now, if he wasn’t careful, a relaxing trip to the bathhouse ended up in mortification. How was he to respond to someone’s shout of _anyone in there?_ if he could not shout in return? He wasn’t sure what had been redder: Bernadetta’s face or his own.

Now, if he wanted to speak to one of his companions, he couldn’t simply call their name across the courtyard. He had to hope he could run them down before they left, and _Sothis_ , he was still out of breath from recovering.

He considered the book of hand signs that he found when perusing the shelves of the library before he put it back in its place.

They wouldn’t be of any use if he was the only one to know them, after all.

***

Duke Aegir was dead.

His last words to Ferdinand had been that he was a coward for coming to see him only to not speak up. No backbone, he had spat. A traitorous whelp with his tail between his legs, cowering behind her Majesty and her frightful retainer.

Ferdinand let himself cry that night. No one would be disturbed by soundless sobs.

***

Nights were the worst. Ferdinand would lie under his blanket, curled on his bed in his dorm, silence surrounding him. All of the thoughts that he had not been able to share throughout the day ricocheted around in his head. How would Linhardt have felt if he was to start covering both Caspar and Bernadetta? Did anyone ever mention to Petra that her lance form was too stiff in training? What was the next topic of the war council?

Was there _something_ he could do to help?

The words piled up and crowded each other in his mind. They never really seemed to leave: instead, they got louder, _louder_ , reminding him of what he could no longer say, no longer _do_.

Edelgard didn’t deliberately ignore him when he refuted her ideas. Didn’t she? It wasn’t like her to be so childish, but all Ferdinand could think, deep down, was how relieved she was now to no longer deal with his prattling. Though he certainly did not make any habits of challenging her to duels anymore, now he hardly could. She could either not look at him and as such, miss his words, or completely ignore anything written.

It wasn’t just Edelgard that was benefiting from his silence. He would never again startle Bernadetta with a too-zealous acknowledgement, he would never say something that made Caspar want to brawl him then and there, he would never harass Linhardt into training, he would never be too loud, too arrogant, for Dorothea, he would never confuse Petra with his phrases of speech… He wouldn’t irk Hubert anymore.

How many times had he driven Hubert up the walls with words alone? He had always succeeded in goading him at the academy, or at _least_ offering a sharp and witty retort. Now he could not provide nuanced speech at meetings to purposefully set up a strategy that Hubert would despise. Finally, _finally_ …

_“The great Ferdinand von Aegir, confined to silence.”_

Funnily enough, the dark voice in his head hadn’t been Hubert’s for a couple of days now. No, it wasn’t the smooth drawling that he had grown to care for and seek out.

This voice was far more obnoxious, higher in pitch and incessantly loud, more of a shout within his mind than what had been Hubert’s low musings. There was only one voice, now, that could truly bring to life the vile loathing and disgust that echoed in Ferdinand’s head:

His own.

***

At least he hadn’t been forgotten. Perhaps he could not shove his identity down the throats of others any longer, but… surely, _surely_ , he was not easily forgettable. He could command presence. He could make a _difference_ , even if no one could hear him, could bear _witness_ to him trying.

Couldn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's going to get worse before it gets better.


	6. Spoken Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is Up it is 2 am and i haven't really slept in 61 hours but this chapter was calling me so Here It Is sorry if the ending is bad i'm very no thoughts head empty rn
> 
> warning: this chapter has a lot of intrusive, negative, harmful thoughts, so please be careful reading it.

“I hardly find this sort of plan agreeable, Edelgard. You can’t be serious when you say that-”

_She probably wasn’t serious, but Linhardt wasn’t used to bickering at a war council, how would he be able to tell she was goading him?_

“I’m quite serious, Linhardt. Dorothea may also know Physic, but you’re quite more talented at white magic. Byleth and Manuela cannot use the spell, so it’d be most feasible to have you take a position in the center of the field; you would be able to attend to everyone that needed it most easily there.”

“In order to get to the _middle of the field_ that would propose for me to begin battle on the _frontlines_. I can’t just – I _won’t_ just allow myself to be a target! If I’m fulfilling my role as a healer, I won’t have any focus on the enemy, not that I’d _want_ to focus on them. I’d be downed in the first five minutes.”

“Whoa, hey, Lin, we’re not just gonna let you get killed-!”

“That’s quite enough. It’d be better to pair Dorothea up with Bernadetta, now that she’s become a bow knight. Bernadetta can bring Dorothea to the center quickly, and the cavalry battalion will match their pace and keep people from picking them off.”

_Right, because they needed a new cavalry general. It would be a waste for a cavalry battalion to be given to infantry or armor, given their strides, and since he couldn’t lead a battalion anymore, it would be Bernadetta’s…_

“What we really need is to put Alois in the frontlines. He’s a tank, he’ll be able to take the first hits easily.”

“But he’s far too slow, Dorothea. Armor units should be the last line of defense, separating oncoming enemies from the healers, and staying close in case there’s a pincer movement. Frontlines are almost always for cavalry members, _especially_ generals with battalions. Of course, our foremost Great Knight can no longer lead a battalion, but-”

Ferdinand squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the sting of the remark as though it had been a smack. The way Byleth spoke made it sound as though he was some… some _invalid_. He was here! Right here in the room, same as everyone else!

“That hardly matters. Alois will be a Great Knight soon enough, he’s easily replaceable. It’s not as though he has anything to offer that any other fresh recruit can master in a day.”

Instantly, Ferdinand snapped his attention to Linhardt, who was waving his hand as he drawled as though he had anything better he could speak about. Really? Had Linhardt _truly_ dismissed him so easily? Linhardt had always been rather blunt, harsh at times, but-

“He can’t handle fighting anymore anyways. He’s far too fragile for this sort of thing. Honestly, it’s… sad.”

Flinching at Dorothea’s words, Ferdinand turned to look at Hubert – surely, _surely_ , Hubert would come to his defense? At the very least he’d notice that Ferdinand was still present, still _here_ , and he’d attempt to save face?

Ferdinand nearly choked as he watched Hubert nod, focused solely on everyone else’s conversation.

“If I am having honesty, I am not certain why we are having him on the field of battle. He is not displaying any use, yes? It is always of importance to be hunting the lame deer of the herd. He should just be staying behind if he does not want to cause hindrance.”

“Ugh, who are we even talking about again? I stopped paying attention-”

“It’s not that important, Caspar.”

If Petra’s words hadn’t made the air leave Ferdinand’s lungs, Caspar’s certainly did. But to hear Edelgard’s flat dismissal – to brush him off as unimportant on top of Petra’s useless, of Dorothea’s _pathetic_ , Ferdinand could have _screamed_. But…

_Look at me! I’m right here! Tell it to my face! Tell me myself! Stop pretending like I’m not one of you, like I’m not a member of the strike force, like I’m not just as equal in strength as any one of you!_

He _couldn’t_. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t yell, couldn’t throw a fit. So he did what he could: he threw his chair back, only stumbling a bit as he ran from the room.

Ferdinand didn’t really know where exactly he was going; the walls and floors all looked the same, gray and blurred when viewed through tears. It was childish. It was childish, and he _knew_ it was childish, Goddess, he hated himself for such an outburst, but he couldn’t just… just…

He couldn’t _take_ it anymore. He couldn’t sit there, ignored, forgotten, he couldn’t let himself be trodden over, not even if they were-

_Not even if they were right!_

It was stupid and _he_ was stupid for pretending he was still capable, that he could do something to help the war effort. His father had said all the same before his death. But what could he do outside of the war? He had nothing to return to. No home, no lands, no _person_. He still had no clue where exactly his siblings, legitimate or otherwise, had ended up.

He was alone, unwanted, uncared for, unneeded; he would never bring the Aegir name out of the muck, never make any difference to the people of the empire. All he was, was-

Vapid. Obnoxious. Oblivious. Simpleminded, simplehearted. Arrogant. Shallow. Useless, useless, _useless, **useless**!_

_No one in the world will remember your name long enough to spit on your **grave**!_

_Goddess,_ he couldn’t even figure out how to _fucking_ breathe!

Ferdinand choked on his next attempted inhale, eyes and lungs burning as he felt himself fall to the floor with a _thump_. He wanted to scream so badly, so, _so_ badly, to do _something_ to vent the overwhelming sensation that had swamped him, so he _did_ , and he screamed and yelled despite the unbreaking silence until his throat burned to match the rest of him, until his vision became almost entirely overwhelmed with black spots. Fingers knotted into his hair and _pulled_ , nails digging into his own scalp as Ferdinand vaguely debated ramming his damned head into the wall.

His panic wasn’t normally so… _destructive_. When he had panic attacks after a rough battle, or back at the academy after a particularly harsh day, or back at home under the stern teachings of his father, all he had ever done was shut down and balled himself up somewhere quiet. He was used to wanting some peace. He had never considered the possibility of being so silenced that his very _body_ ached to shout.

It was as if every bit of noise he hadn’t made since his injury had piled up, blaring like alarms and sirens in his brain, a voice that sounded too much like what he remembered of his own berating him for how pathetic he was being, how childish, how _stupid_ -

A hand, out of nowhere, gripped onto his wrist, another joining on the opposite one, causing Ferdinand to flinch through the haze of anxiety. Gasping and curling in tighter, his automatic response was to struggle, to lash out, but the end product was only him sharply tugging on his hair as his hands flailed to punch.

With how dizzy he was becoming, somehow Ferdinand did not think a punch would have been all too deterring to his attacker.

Sure enough, the hands that had grabbed him drifted upwards, wrapping around his own hands with a slight hesitance before attempting to undo his fingers’ locked positions. Faintly, a voice different from the one running rampant in his mind pushed through, even if it sounded so, so far away.

“Ferdinand – stop, stop this, you’re just hurting yourself. Ferdinand, let _go_ , I don’t have an immediate desire to break your damn fingers-!”

Finally, the person succeeded, uncurling Ferdinand’s hold from his distressed orange waves and slowly bringing his hands away from his head. Both of his hands were then held together gently by one thin one, the other drifting back up to his head in order to gently knead the attacked area.

Ferdinand thrashed again when he felt himself being brought closer to something not-quite soft, but certainly warmer than the wall, this attempt having even less success than the first. He found himself being held quite securely to… a chest?

 _That_ notion hardly helped his state of mind. Of _course_ someone would’ve followed him, _stupid_ , he should’ve _known_ , how _humiliating_ -

“Ferdinand, _breathe_. You’re hyperventilating, that’s hardly going to help anything, you…” the faint voice stopped for a moment, a pause that felt infinite to Ferdinand, “Ferdinand, I beg of you. In on my count, out on my count.”

Softly, more from the gentleness of its tone than volume, now, the voice counted up to five before starting over, slow and patient. After some time, Ferdinand began to match the numbers, easing to the feel of spindly fingers in his hair despite the throbbing of his skull.

When he zeroed in on the voice, he couldn’t keep up with his other racing thoughts. Slowly Ferdinand’s mind emptied of everything but the low, soothing words, and after a few minutes, his breathing was almost normal again.

He was… tired. _Exhausted_ , really. Ferdinand let himself rest against the person’s chest, too worn out to bother trying to escape again, letting himself find the calm that had previously left him, even if he still trembled from the left over anxiety, even if his eyelashes were still wet. He felt his company breathe a sigh before a soft press of lips touched his forehead, and only then did he fully take in the black clothing and thin frame.

Of course. Hubert.

Weak and drained, Ferdinand only endeavored to press his face against Hubert’s breast, the tremors halting with every second he was embraced in his warmth. Eventually he felt Hubert trace his fingertips from his scalp down his neck, eventually going to gently rub his back.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.”

From Hubert, that sort of command was its own kind of beg, _especially_ when it came to Ferdinand, the one person who disobeyed his orders more often than not.

At least without a voice, his mouthed words would not waver. Ferdinand reluctantly pulled away enough to be seen, though he could not meet Hubert’s gaze.

“ _My friend, please… do not, do not endeavor to mock me. To be so… patient when I make an even bigger fool of myself; I am already useless, I wish not be seen as… as helpless, as well._ ”

Brow furrowing, Hubert gently cupped Ferdinand’s chin in order to draw back his gaze. His eyes were red, tears still lingering.

“Ferdinand, I will not even begin to entertain the notion that you are either of such things.”

Ferdinand winced at that, staring below Hubert’s chin while citrine eyes gazed even more deeply into his own. When no response came, some part of Hubert seemed to deflate.

“…Is a friend all I truly am to you, even now? I had… believed us to be courting, ever since…”

With a quick motion, Ferdinand pulled free of Hubert’s grip on his face, not yet daring to make a stand with how much the dizziness still lingered.

“ _Maybe, yes, maybe we are, but – but these, these feelings, I’ve had them for quite a while, and never once before did you seem at all interested. I think – I’ve begun to understand, you, Hubert, you’re just like the others, deep down. This is an improvement, to you! Do you remember what you said when I first – when I was first instructed to be quiet? You held it over me, how… how annoying I was, am, and I know it is no joke. Now that I can’t – can’t bother you or anyone else with the brashness of my words anymore, only now am I worth any time pursuing, now that I can’t possibly grate your ears nor argue ad nauseum. You only care for me because I’m silent, now!_ ”

“Ferdinand, that isn’t…”

“ _Are you blind? Deaf? It’s so terribly obvious whenever anyone so much as gives me the time of day, if they even notice I’m there. Everyone is overjoyed to find I’m no longer a disruption, so much so that I hardly exist to them anymore, I can’t – I can’t lead, I can’t advise, I can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t-”_

“ _Ferdinand_ , you’re only serving to make it worse again!”

“ _It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter, I don’t matter at all, not anymore, you’re even talking over me because you can, you’ll drown me out, everyone will drown me out, there’s no point-_ ”

Ferdinand made a choking sound as Hubert tugged him forward, hand gentle at the back of his head, into a kiss. Ferdinand didn’t struggle this time, instead gasping when after a few moments Hubert pulled back, concern threatening to cross his face. With utmost care Hubert pressed his forehead to Ferdinand’s, thumbing back the stray locks of orange that had fallen in his face before running his finger under the fresh tears.

“ _Breathe,_ Ferdinand. I have been infatuated with you most ardently for _months_. I only did not make a move because I could hardly believe you’d be interested. As for the others – _no one_ is happy about your condition, Ferdinand. Every single one of us has made remarks to each other about how… we miss your bright optimism that you would put into your rants. Even… Lady Edelgard, she even mentioned she wouldn’t mind hearing you ask her for another duel, even though you’ve grown past that. Where are you getting this nonsense of people liking you better like this?”

Oh. _Oh_.

Slowly, every ounce of energy drained from him, Ferdinand moved his head from Hubert’s and down to his shoulder. A deep breath. The way Hubert held him, touched him, so gently. The way he now moved to run a hand down through his hair, the movement jerky, almost as though he had been waiting ages to do it. It was with a long, heavy sigh that Hubert spoke again, at last.

If it was what Ferdinand needed to hear, he would never hesitate to say it.

“I did not become enamored with you because of your voice or lack thereof. I can’t begin to understand why you view that as your only important feature – you are far more than your spoken words alone. I found myself enraptured over time, over battles, over meetings, over tea. Just being _near_ to you was enough to burn me to my core, Ferdinand. It was as if I had been pitched into the bloody _sun_.

“All of the best parts of you don’t require your voice, Ferdinand. You needn’t speak in order to… brighten a companion’s day with a smile, inspire your men, fight with all of your strength… You do not need your voice to _love_ and _care_ as passionately as you do. You, at your very soul, are your _heart_ , and no possible muteness could ever silence _that_.”

Hubert was right. Hubert was _right_ , and he had gotten himself worked up for nothing. Even more:

Hubert truly _cared_ for him.

Ferdinand nodded into Hubert’s shoulder, sitting back and palming at his eye while Hubert observed him. He must have deemed him calm enough to carry on because a hand rested on Ferdinand’s own, texture of the glove soft against his skin.

“The meeting has ended for the day. Are you at all interested in having a drink at our usual table? Or would you prefer to-”

A small shake of the head was enough to answer him, and Ferdinand rose easily enough when they stood together, even if he felt as though he might yet stumble.

Such notions hardly mattered; Hubert was here beside him. They would take coffee and tea, and they would enjoy the silence of each other’s company. He wouldn’t need to force himself to converse, not again so soon, and perhaps… perhaps it would be alright, _he_ would be alright, even without anything being spoken. He could handle it, after all: he was Ferdinand von Aegir.

Nothing had to be said. Ferdinand von Aegir would not be forgotten so easily, it seemed.

Most certainly not by Hubert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tendency to write panic attacks similar to what I've experienced, though this chapter is certainly the more aggressive side of what I've seen, due to the anxiety being directed towards himself. the same anxiety perpetuated the false beliefs that the other eagles were looking down upon him in the meeting when in fact he was in his own head.
> 
> Also I believe that Hubert would actually be quite good at helping someone through a panic attack, considering his close relationship to Edelgard; I'm certain she's had many before.
> 
> note! if you are concerned for someone who is having a panic attack, DON'T touch or grab them unless you 100% know it's okay. hubert only does so here because of his concern that ferdinand was going to hurt himself. only ever touch someone if you know that they a) are okay with it because they have communicated this to you during or prior or b) if there is a possibility that they will bring more harm to themselves if you do not immediately intervene.
> 
> hope you enjoyed, see you soon <3


	7. Desperate Cries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello helLO THANK you for your patience with this fic! i've been gone far too long and i guess i can only say that this quarantine burnout has me suffering good. lowkey warning i'm tired as hell and getting back into my Creative Mind so i'm sorry if this chapter is kinda rough,,  
> thank you to everyone encouraging me though! your support and comments are always lifeblood to me and inspire me to keep going! we're almost at the end, folks!
> 
> real warning tho lots of blood mentions in this chapter. i wouldn't say the wound descriptions are graphic, however, but i wanted to say be careful just in case!

Every time Byleth called for a scouting mission, Hubert swore another hair of his turned gray. The ruffians and bandits had become more and more often likely to truly be enemy soldiers from Faerghus, and Hubert could have made money betting on what sort of demonic beast or monster that they would see in each fight. The foggy woods they were in for this fight was a prime location for some unholy creature, and worst of all, they were short on torches.

Mages were of utmost importance because of this. It was their magic that lit up the spaces to cut through the mist, and as such, it was entirely key to stay nearby at least _one_ of them. The strategies had been laid out for a swift, easy take down.

Now without proper vision, chaos had begun to reign.

It was all Hubert could do to stay close to Edelgard’s side, her vibrant uniform easy for him to focus on while surrounded by gray. Byleth had gone off to fight more freely, his Relic easily seen flashing throughout the area much like Aymr. It was unfortunate that those were the only Relics present company had, especially since the glows of those which had been blessed by supposed-saints was far softer, unable to cut so easily through the dark.

With Byleth out seeking for the enemy leader, that left for Linhardt, Dorothea, and the newly acquired Lysithea to guide the remainders of their group, Hanneman and Manuela having stayed behind for this mission, while Hubert remained by Edelgard at the rear, just in case an attempt for a pincer attack would be made with the fog as an aid. There were only ten of them, not including their battalions, but the fight should have been simple, the fog only an _annoyance_.

It had certainly seemed that way when the once-professor had returned, shaking the blood from his sword with a curt nod, having slain the commander. It was enough to let Hubert give a breath of relief. No reinforcements, no surprises, just bad weather. All they needed to do was wait for the others to finish their part and find their way back–

Even Hubert tensed at the sound of a _horrible_ shriek, the noise still unable to mask the sharp, desperate cry that it threatened to trample:

_“Caspar!”_

Any shout like that coming from _Linhardt_ , of all people, was never good news. Considering the panic and pain that could be heard, and the large burst of light from a Bolganone spell in the distance, Hubert could safely bet that for once it wasn’t Caspar in trouble.

It was a miracle that none of the three of them tripped over any rocks or roots when they ran in the direction of the growing fire, the spell having caught on a couple of the trees nearby and what appeared to be the remains of a giant wolf.

The sight was gruesome when they arrived, shortly after Caspar himself appeared: lit by firelight and the glow from the Relics, the only thing distinguishing their healer from the green of the grass that surrounded him was the dark crimson blood that had begun seeping into the ground. Though the blue eyes were wide open, he did not appear to be seeing anything, incapable of anything other than gasping for breath.

Not that that appeared to be doing much good, Hubert noted with a scowl; the gash down Linhardt’s neck and chest was continuously seeping blood as the sticky redness bubbled at his lips to match.

“ _Shit_ ,” Hubert swore, just as Edelgard grabbed Caspar by the bicep to stop him from acting rashly.

“Stop, _stop_ it! Caspar, you will just make it _worse_ – Hubert,”

Without another moment wasted, Hubert acted on Edelgard’s intention, kneeling down to call his meager faith skills to his hands. It was hardly a skill he used, a fact that seemed to be haunting him as of late.

He had already failed Ferdinand with his poor healing. Now it was Linhardt’s life on the line.

“We need to retreat.”

As much as those words were sudden, the stoic tone unwavering despite the clear immediacy, Hubert did not turn to look at Byleth, focusing on his pitiful ministrations. The blood loss was only continuing to grow.

“We defeated the commander, did we not? Professor, to abandon the area without eliminating remaining troops-!”

“I understand your concern, Edelgard, but we have no _choice_.” Short and curt, the words cut through the fog with knife-like sharpness. “No matter what actions I take, I cannot… I cannot prevent disaster. No matter how many times I start the battle over – no matter what formations, tactics, we are _always_ overrun once the beasts draw blood should we continue on.

“I only have one left,” Byleth’s voice took on a soft, rarely-heard plead, “and I cannot bear to use it and leave us with no safety net. Not unless someone dies.”

Despite the low light from the flames and density of the fog, Hubert could still easily see the way pale lavender eyes darted between their old professor and prone healer. Edelgard was shaken, it seemed, with how rattled Byleth was acting. Hubert could hardly blame her, his nerves were almost entirely frayed as well.

“So – So be it. The others-”

Caspar and Edelgard both whirled at the sound of nearby footsteps charging closer, though all postures relaxed minutely when Dorothea and Petra emerged from the darkness, Petra’s sword raised and Dorothea’s hands glowing gold from the aftermath of magic. Blood dripped steadily from a cut above Dorothea’s brow, but otherwise the two looked relatively unharmed.

“Edie, Professor, what – _Lin!_ ”

It was not the first time Hubert had been bodily tackled by Dorothea, and frankly, he was quite certain it would not be the last. In all honesty, he was more than relieved to have her take over his shoddy attempts at administering faith magic.

“We had been doing battle against the enemies to the east of the field,” Petra explained, “when we had heard the most horrific of noises coming from where we are being now! We did not be thinking about the fighting left and ran towards the flames! We will be retreating, now, yes? Where are-”

“Just as you both did, the other three ought to come here immediately to find out what happened,” Hubert deduced, leveling Petra and then Byleth with a steeled look. “Lysithea led them north-east, further than you went, so it’s only a matter of time before they find us.”

“The commander was near that area, and there were few other enemies by the time I turned back,” Byleth returned, eyes lit by the orange fires, “It shouldn’t take them this long. Not with Ferdinand’s horse. Those girls are light – all three could ride easily.”

The ex-mercenary took a deep inhale, nodding to himself as he appeared to consider something beyond Hubert’s understanding.

“I’m going to go find them. Hubert, with me.”

Hubert was hardly going to argue with such orders. It was unthinkable, really, in any sense. Though he loathed the entire concept of leaving Edelgard – leaving _all_ of the gathered Strike Force, really – behind, shaken and in danger, the very notion that he had no eyes on Ferdinand made his nerves threaten to bring magic to his fingertips.

Vestras thrived in the silent, clouded darkness, of course, but they did so when _alone_. Hubert had made the mistake of growing attached to his peers five years ago, and now he had to suffer the consequences of such actions. He had let Bernadetta grow on him as a sister would; he had accepted Lysithea as someone that could understand Edelgard’s past perhaps even more than he himself could.

He had let that damned Ferdinand von Aegir warm him to his very core and press the faintest of kisses to his cold, blackened heart.

No harm could be allowed to befall them.

It wasn’t as though he had long to dawdle on such thoughts, however. He had been following Byleth through the fog for a mere minute before the screaming began. This time it was far more familiar to their ears than Linhardt’s shriek–

Bernadetta.

_“Professor! Professor, professor pleeease! Oh goddess, oh goddess, I can’t do this, I can’t do this alone!”_

Hubert ran the sharp turn Byleth gave at the cries, letting a _miasma_ warm his hand with a snap from his fingers: let their old professor tend to the girl, and Hubert would off the foe causing such distress, and yet…

There was no such foe.

The Sword of the Creator illuminated the small area surrounding them as they found Bernadetta, her small form cowering behind a tall shrub as though it would hide her any better in the mist. Hubert found himself entirely unable to stop his relief of seeing her relatively unharmed come out as shortness when he caught his breath.

“ _Bernadetta_ , what could be your _damned reason_ for-”

It was only when the woman jumped up to grab Byleth’s arm that Hubert began to understand why she hadn’t simply run toward the flames from Linhardt’s spell.

Where Bernadetta had been hovering Lysithea’s form could now be seen, blood on her temple as she remained eerily still.

“There was this – this _huge_ monster out of _nowhere_ , and it, it just, _wham_ , it knocked us both over, and she, she hit her head really, _really_ hard, and she wasn’t waking up so, so I didn’t know what to _do_ -!”

“She’s alive,” Byleth hushed Bernadetta softly, observing the faint rise and fall of Lysithea’s chest, “but we can’t spare Dorothea’s efforts to heal her just yet…”

Frankly, Hubert found the solution quite simple. “Bring the both of them back to the others and retreat from that point. Take the wagons and horses, head back to the monastery, to the infirmary and Manuela.”

“But, but you-”

“Will find Ferdinand and retreat as well upon his horse,” the dark mage leveled Bernadetta with a look, firm, “as swiftly as we can. Lysithea appears to be relatively stable in her condition, but we cannot _know_ that until a healer gets a proper look at her, and refocusing Dorothea’s attentions from Linhardt is clearly out of the question. You simply need to tell me when Ferdinand had the audacity to split from your group. _Professor_ ,”

Byleth caught Hubert’s gaze with a nod of agreement, lifting Lysithea cautiously as he beckoned Bernadetta to speak. With no small amount of anxiety, the archer did just that.

“He – Ferdinand, when we got attacked he, he just went to drive the monster off! Please, _please_ don’t be mad at him for separating from us, if he hadn’t charged it then we’d probably be dead! Ohh, the two of us would just be little strings of jerky, of little Bernie jerky, all wrapped up in that thing’s huge teeth!”

A pair of green eyes stole Hubert’s waning attention, Byleth nodding his head to the rumpled grass that was clearly trampled. Not waiting for his reaction, the man disappeared, Lysithea in his arms and toeing Bernadetta along just the same.

Hubert set off searching once again. Both luckily and not, it became quite clear he was going in the right direction when he found himself nearly struck by a panicking horse.

Grabbing the mare’s reins, he steadied the beast as quickly as he could calm it. There was no doubt that this was Ferdinand’s mount, Hubert would recognize it anywhere, but every moment the creature thrashed and neighed was a second spent with Hubert unable to listen for movement around him. Sight any further than a few feet in front of him was out of the question, and the giant wolves had far keener senses compared to him.

All Hubert desired was a flash of vibrant red hair. That was it. They had not yet slain Fódlan’s false goddess, so if she was to give any pity on her would-be killers, now was the time.

Hubert did not get the bright locks he desired as he walked the horse further back. Instead, the only change in scenery was the murky brown liquid that flooded the ground, the mere sight sending the ice encasing Hubert’s heart straight down to crash in his stomach.

It was no giant wolf that had attacked Ferdinand’s group. No, those creatures bled just as red as any human.

 _This_ was the blood of a demonic beast, one with the green blood of dragons that had mixed with humanity’s crimson. The acidic smell and tinge of purple poison at the edges only confirmed the matter.

Ferdinand was missing on a dark, foggy battlefield where their most concerning enemies could pinpoint them from smell alone. Ferdinand could not yell for help like Bernadetta, nor could he send a flare of fire or thunder like Linhardt had done. He was completely and utterly alone without even his horse for company and there was _no_ way for him to get Hubert’s attention, not like this. He didn’t even have a battalion to aid him or make him more easily noticed.

Hubert never enjoyed applying the term _desperate_ to himself, but for this occasion he had no choice but to allow it.

The desperation only grew when he found the massive corpse of the demonic beast, Spear of Assal glowing faintly from where it was ledged in its side, with no sign of the man who wielded it.

Hubert’s grip grew slack as he took in the sight. If Ferdinand had bested the monster on his own, that was a feat any reasonable person would respect. The notion that Ferdinand hadn’t returned to Bernadetta and Lysithea afterwards, or headed towards the fires…

“Ferdinand!”

The yell was stolen from his throat, raw and pained at the very thought edging the corners of his mind. With a more frantic _need_ , Hubert skirted the area, abandoning the horse, looking toward every tree and hole and stump that could _possibly_ be hiding the man he loved.

“Ferdinand! You daft _ass_ , you – come out from wherever you’ve hidden yourself! Some sort of… this is _hardly_ a game, dammit! Ferdinand – damn you, Aegir, give me _something_! Give me _anything_ to work with! There is no reason to be this vexing! _Ferdinand!_ ”

No clank of armor. No orange waves loose from their tight battle-ready updo. No gasps or groans or the chiming of the little bell he had been gifted.

It was no joke, no prank, not even a damn _body_ left for Hubert to at least have the knowledge of his love’s fate. Ferdinand was lost, lost to _him_ , and the only possible way he could be found was if Hubert lingered night and day for the weather to better itself. If he was healthy enough, Hubert could still be too late to find him, even if he woke from unconsciousness, even if he was free to move. If he wasn’t sound enough in body…

It hardly mattered then, if that was the case. Ferdinand would be dead, and Hubert a fool for waiting.

All it left for Hubert to do was attempt to steady his breathing, forcibly blink back any moisture that had accumulated about his eyes, and make for the horse once again, pulling the sacred spear out of the flank of the creature as he did so.

He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , give up, of course. Such an action would be incomprehensible. No, he would simply… regroup with the others and explain the situation, stay behind as they went ahead, wait a night without worrying Edelgard as to his whereabouts…

His hand clenched as he reached the mare, smothering the dark magic that had built up with his emotions. With perhaps more anger than the steed deserved, Hubert once again took up her reins, snapping his wrist to pull her head away from where it sniffed at the demonic beast’s claws, barely sparing a second glance to where the natural weapons dug into the ground. Into the dark dirt, into the grass muddy and flooded by monstrous blood, into the scraps of fabric from tearing into Bernadetta, into Lysithea, into _Ferdinand_ –

Into Ferdinand’s _body_ , Hubert realized with a deeply strangled noise. Not wasting another second, the imperial minister dropped to his knees, discarding the lance as he drug the scaly foot up, off, away from the man who was staring at him with bright, _bright_ orange eyes filled to the very brim with fear, with pain, with _tears_.

Hubert didn’t need a proper light source to tell that the frantic word mouthed by Ferdinand was none other than his own name.

_“Hubert!”_

With a wretched gasp from both of them, Hubert pulled Ferdinand up into an embrace, arms trembling about him. Ferdinand’s forehead, sticky from blood and sweat, tucked away against Hubert’s neck was the most satisfying feeling Hubert had ever known.

“I’ve got you. You’re not alone any longer. I… I’m _sorry_.”

They could make as many adjustments as it took to make Ferdinand confident and as near normalcy as possible in the day-to-day moments and tasks the war presented them. Even on paper, small changes could be made to allow Ferdinand to fight to the best of his ability without needing his voice to command, to lead, to inspire.

There was _no_ way to properly equip a mute man to fight in practical moments of war such as this. Not with their limited time. Not with the resources they had. Each battle could be hit or miss depending on its conditions, and now, _now_ Hubert understood the gut-wrenching anxiety that had plagued Ferdinand since he had lost his voice. Ferdinand was not a liability to the army.

He was a liability to his _friends_. Hubert could not weigh Ferdinand’s battle prowess against his _life_ , not when keeping him safe, out of battle, would prevent times like this where Hubert would rather spend night and day searching for a speechless soldier having fallen in battle.

Ferdinand being unable to call for him wasn’t enough to ruin his credibility as a general: it was simply enough to make Hubert doubt and worry consequences that would never have existed otherwise.

“Are you injured?” Hubert asked when he himself found his words, voice low. With a sinking heart he watched as Ferdinand attempted to speak, the words far too fast for Hubert to catch with such low vision.

“I’m going to need you to nod yes or no,” Ferdinand stilled at the comment, hands trembling where Hubert held them in his, “Are you injured?”

This time, the question was answered in a way Hubert could see. A slow dip of the head before hands moved to his ribs, tender in the movement. It was with a frown that Hubert realized such a dark stain could not be from blood alone.

“Ferdinand, were you _poisoned?_ ” Perhaps a little sharper than intended, he received both a nod and flinch, eyes darting past his form to the body remaining behind Hubert. “Can you ride until we reach the others – can you stand?”

Another quick succession of nods, the two men pulled each other up unsteadily, Hubert ignoring the incessant tugging of his sleeves and prodding by Ferdinand as he bent again to retrieve the weapon he had dropped.

“We must retreat immediately, stop _struggling,_ I’ve no idea where you might have stashed an antitoxin if _any_ and it would be wiser to meet up with the others as swiftly as possible, _Ferdinand_ –”

With a bare hint of worried frustration, Hubert found himself cut off as he stood back to full height as Ferdinand wrenched Hubert’s hands away, wildly swinging the Spear of Assal in their grasp as it struck deeply into the head of the now rising demonic beast behind him. Hubert only found himself able to watch, aghast, as the monster only _now_ was well and truly slain.

Ferdinand stumbled immediately after the hit, falling against Hubert as the mage quickly retracted an arm to hold him up. Between the haggard breaths, Hubert managed to pick out the faintest of whispers brush up against his ear.

“Don’t you _dare_ ignore me again.”

“My apologies,” the two moved slowly to the horse, and with an effort, Hubert found himself sitting behind Ferdinand on the saddle. The _one_ time he ignored any sign of Ferdinand’s desperation to communicate, and the consequences were almost _deadly_. “Forgive me, truly.”

With a small glance that let Hubert know that for now he was forgiven, Hubert turned Ferdinand to look toward the flames licking up the trees, yet dying all the same, in the distance.

“Everyone should have retreated from that point. The professor informed Lady Edelgard that we best take the meager victories we have and desert the area before it becomes entirely overrun. There have been too many casualties and it would be disastrous if an injury turned into a more permanent loss.”

Again Ferdinand turned back to look at him, this time paler than ever, eyes hazy. In return, Hubert dug his heels into the horse, urging it to move a little faster through the darkness as he felt his hands remain glued to the deep, oozing wound found in Ferdinand’s side.

“Aside from Lysithea, Linhardt is down. Everyone should, by now, be evacuated to the – Ferdinand?”

Anxiety once again curled, heavy and unpleasant, in Hubert’s stomach as he watched Ferdinand’s head dip forward somewhat haphazardly, reaching to grab where the younger man held the reins. Pressing Ferdinand back closer to his chest, Hubert tried to gauge the condition he was in while keeping the horse moving straight ahead.

Pulse fluttery and skin hotter than it had been when Hubert had first found him, he realized that Ferdinand must have been poisoned more badly than he had originally believed. It made sense, Hubert swore to himself as the distant look on Ferdinand’s face only grew more ill in pallor, with only one foe for the demonic beast to fixate on. With the proper action over, Ferdinand wasn’t even fighting him as he took full control of the horse, letting Ferdinand rest back against him, shaky and wheezing. It was enough to let the blood in Hubert’s veins run cold.

Somehow, he had discovered a sound from Ferdinand far worse than silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hubert: where tf is Ferdinand i know he can hold his own but i'm worried-  
> Dorothea: linhardt is BLEEDING OUT  
> Hubert: THIS AIN'T ABOUT HIM

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're enjoying! Please leave comments and kudos, it's always a delight! <3


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